In Tempo
by Mimzilla
Summary: When Komatsu's orchestra bails on him only a month and a half before the Soup of the Century competition, he has to gather musicians to put together a new one. It won't be easy, and there's to be something dark going on behind the scenes of the contest...


Well, here we are! This is an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while now, and it may warrant a multi-chapter fic or it might just stay like this. In any case, I don't own Toriko etc etc.

...

Komatsu sighed, checking his watch again. That made twenty minutes, now, that he had spent waiting in his car, and two since he had last checked his watch. Being nervous was one thing but this was getting to be ridiculous. It wasn't as if he was going to visit a criminal—and besides, it certainly wasn't as if Umeda would send him to get someone really dangerous. _At least_, Komatsu thought, glancing at the rugged architecture of the house, _I hope not. _

He checked his watch again. Twenty-one minutes.

Steeling himself, Komatsu grabbed the door handle and counted down.

Three…

Two…

_One._

Shoving the door open, the man practically sprinted up the walkway and somehow managed to stumble his way up the rocky stairs. Even in his haste Komatsu couldn't help but observe that the sharp edges protruding everywhere were hazardous, not to mention the overgrown grass that wrapped itself around hidden rocks and plotted to trip the unwary. All in all, he concluded, it was most definitely the yard of someone who didn't care about gardening in the least and who didn't get visitors very often. Not for the first time, Komatsu swallowed and wondered why Umeda had sent him here. Yes, they needed members desperately, but surely there was a better way than to send him into the lion's den.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead and silently berating himself for being melodramatic, Komatsu forced himself to ring the doorbell, unable to resist flinching when the silence was broken. When the sound of footsteps rang out past the oaken door his trembling increased and his life flashed before his eyes—a fairly boring one, he had to admit—so that he almost missed the arrival of the person he had been fretting about for almost half an hour. It was only the sight of the man's shoes that jolted Komatsu out of his frightened stupor and made him jerk back to see the other man's face.

It wasn't what Komatsu had been expecting. Umeda had described him as being big, yes, and Komatsu himself was fairly short, but the man standing before him must have been at least six and a half feet, if not seven, with muscles bulging in places Komatsu didn't even know they could bulge. It was, in his humble opinion, terrifying to stand before someone so utterly huge. The only things stopping Komatsu from turning tail were Umeda's trust and the fact that his legs and brain were refusing to work.

As the seconds stretched on, the man cocked his head to the side and flashed a wolfish grin at Komatsu, showing many white teeth and doing nothing to ease Komatsu's anxiety. "Can I help you?" he inquired, "or are you just here to make faces at me?"

Coming back to himself entirely, Komatsu spluttered and ducked his head forward in a haphazard bow. "I-I'm very sorry, sir! I don't mean to—uh, that is, I'm here to talk to you about Umeda. Umeda's offer, I mean. For the position."

"Oh, yeah, I remember something about that. Come in and we'll talk about it, what's-your-name."

"Komatsu, sir."

"Komatsu, huh? My name's Toriko. Can I get you something to eat?"

...

"So, Komatsu," Toriko hummed, "tell me about this offer."

Komatsu coughed slightly, trying to cover up his nervousness even as he glanced around the room for an exit. Toriko had ushered him in to the house without listening to a single protest, so now he was as good as trapped for however long it took to convince Toriko to accept. Eyeing the mess of the kitchen, Komatsu dearly hoped it would not take very long.

"Well," he began, "I think that Umeda already told you about it a little bit, in that email, but the basics are that our orchestra has quit and we need to get another one in time to enter the annual 'Soup of the Century' competition. We were hoping that we could convince you to play with us, Mr. Toriko. If it's not too much trouble, that is."

Toriko humphed, spinning in his chair, and observed Komatsu through hooded, predatory eyes. Komatsu withered slightly and felt himself pale, choosing to wonder about the strange shade of Toriko's hair as a measure of self-defense. It was Komatsu's opinion that he knew some very strange people, but never had he met anyone with blue hair. Or, for that matter, anyone who lived in an overgrown house surrounded by sharp rocks. Toriko, for all his apparent musical prowess, did seem to be a bit of an odd duck. Not that Komatsu could talk, really—with only a cheap baton and not even an orchestra to his name, Komatsu didn't qualify as much of a conductor.

"I'll do it." Toriko agreed suddenly, gaining a startled jump and a relieved smile out of the other man.

"You will?" Komatsu gasped out, heart pounding in his chest. "Good. I mean, thank you. Thank you so much!"

"One condition, though." Toriko said, spearing Komatsu with his stare again.

"Wh-what is it? I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate you, sir—"

"My name's Toriko. Not Mr. Toriko."

Blinking, Komatsu shakily nodded his head. "Alright," he managed to squeak out, still trembling with relief and adrenaline, exhilarated by the first step towards building up his pride and joy again. Toriko watched him for a moment more, observing blankly, before grinning his wolf's grin again and laughing loud enough to shake the cups.

...

"… you did it?"

Komatsu frowned slightly, nodding his head. "Well, yes. You told me to. And it wasn't like he was particularly disagreeable about it, either. I think you were just trying to scare me with those stories, Umeda."

Umeda tapped a finger against his lips, contemplating the new information. "Well, I have to admit that I never thought anyone could convince him to join up with an orchestra again, but good job! With him, at least, we'll have a decent chance of attracting new members."

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot!" Komatsu exclaimed, pounding a fist into his hand. "Toriko was kind enough to mention that he can rope some people into joining with him, so there should be more people on their way."

Of all the reactions Komatsu was expecting—joy, shock, relief—he did not expect fear to be among them. Umeda, however, immediately froze at his words and spun around to face Komatsu directly.

"Toriko offered to bring in people?" the man repeated slowly, saying each word like he couldn't string them together into a coherent sentence.

Komatsu nodded again, frown deepening. "Is something wrong, Umeda? I thought that we needed more people, we hardly have any as it is…"

"No, no, nothing's wrong." Umeda hummed, stroking his chin in deep thought. "It's just… going to be fairly interesting from here on out, isn't it…"

Komatsu tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "I don't know. Is it?"


End file.
